This Is What You Came For
by witwit8
Summary: Nerdy Holly, famous Gail, and a club.
1. Chapter 1

This Is What You Came For

Rating: T- some sorta schmexy stuff.

To ragingscooter who I am shamelessly trying to bribe with fic so she writes more of her StarWars! Golly fic. Forgive any mistakes. I am old and tired.

* * *

You weren't even supposed to be there. You weren't even supposed to be in the crowded club that evening. Your plan had been simple- a soak in the large tub of the hotel you were staying at for the forensics conference you were scheduled to speak at tomorrow, a quick look at the slides for the presentation you had over rehearsed over the past month, and then, bed. That was it. It was not walking into the hottest gay club in Los Angeles, hot on your best friend (who had basically invited herself along on the trip to scope out "the scene" as she'd called it) Lisa's heels, trying not to lose her in the throng of people.

You weren't even supposed to be sliding up to the bar and watching Lisa smirk slyly at the bartender, sliding her a 20 and receiving a brush of her arm and two Jack and Cokes for her trouble. The drink is strong- a little too strong- and it burns pleasantly down your throat as you turn and survey the crowd. It's young- but, you have to admit, a little begrudgingly- sort of ridiculously attractive. The exact sort of crowd Lisa had hinted at entertaining. You sigh as you watch her catch your eye, wink slowly, and disappear into the crowd, following after a blonde who couldn't be older than twenty two.

You shake your head, continuing on with your observations, mindful of the bodies surrounding you on the large level lofted just above the dance floor. The music is loud, the bass thrumming in your ears and reverberating in your temples. You're just about to drain your drink and declare the night a bust, yourself too old for this, and return to your hotel when the flash of a camera catches your attention. Your eyes skirt to the edge of the floor you were on, to the back. You peer further, noticing a small crowd buzzing with excitement around where the light had flashed, realizing that the people have surrounded a person, whose face you couldn't see but whose hair glinted, bright, almost white, in the flash of the camera.

Your curiosity piqued, you'd mindlessly moved a few feet to your left and tried to catch a glimpse of her face. When you do, your mouth goes a little dry. Because you recognize her, this woman. Your mind goes to the last time you'd seen her face, heard her voice, on the t.v. in your living room, wine glass clasped firmly in-between your fingers as she'd poured her heart out to her best friend, begging him to love her back.

It was Gail Peck- the hot young star of your Thursday night "guilty pleasure" medical procedural, "Rookie"- and Jesus, hot she was. You'd admittedly started watching it for the woman now a few mere feet in front of you, first seeing that face when you'd been channel surfing and, startled by her sharp eyes, and overall graceful structure, you'd stopped and watched over the rim of your wine. And that had turned into binging the show which had turned into weekly viewings of the show. She was- fucking beautiful, yeah- but also very talented and seemingly intelligent, and-

You swallow and try to tame your speeding heart. It was silly- all of these feelings and the way that you were almost buzzing with excitement because you- you are a grown, 30 year old woman, and you should not be fan-girling over a straight (was she, though? This was a gay bar- what was she doing here? Maybe just out with friends?) woman trying to mind her own business in a bar. No matter what she did for a living, she deserved to not be gawked at by people while she tried to enjoy a night out.

It's that thought that causes you to finally drain your drink and turn toward the bar, intent on getting another.

You're standing in the long line when two things happen in rapid succession.

First, a woman- short, dark haired, attractive- sidles up to you and asks you to dance. You consider it for a moment, trying to banish the woman you'd turned away from out of your mind, when another voice echoes in the space you've given yourself to decide about the brunette's offer.

It's the sound of someone clearing their throat.

You and your would-be paramour turn toward the sound and are greeted with the tall form of a man. Solid, tall, man- form. He doesn't waste any time, touching your shoulder with a sure hand. When you're opening your mouth to tell him to go fuck himself, this was a gay bar and you were very- he speaks softly.

"Hey- my friend. I- I'm a bodyguard. My name is Chris. And my friend- my client-friend, Gail? I saw you looking over at us earlier, sorry- so maybe you recognize her? The blonde over there- well, she was sort of wondering if you'd like to come over and- uh- hang out? She kind of wants to kill me over all of this but she has been talking about you for the last 10 minutes and that's- unusual, is all- and security's been a little tight after last month because we had some issues a little bit ago- but she's just- sorry if I- uh-"

You can't even contain yourself as you spin around, bewildered, to find the blonde, now in full view, looking at you with wide eyes, blush high on her cheeks, before glancing away quickly. When your eyes connect, she looks away, doing everything she can to look anywhere except for you. She fails once or twice- her eyes locking on your face for a few stolen seconds- before skittering away and it makes you smile despite your thundering heart and disbelieving mind.

The brunette disappears when you just shake your head, not waiting for Chris to lead the way, simply heading straight toward the table and stopping mere inches from it, gulping once you break through the throng of people and the you're standing mere feet from her, separated only by a table and holy shit- she's pretty on television, yeah- but here, in person? She literally takes your breath away, the glib words you'd been planning on saying dying in your throat with the theft of it. So, then you're just looking at her- wide eyes locked with wide eyes- maybe for seconds, maybe for hours, before a voice is breaking through; it's a fan who asks to take a photo with the blonde. The voice and the process breaks you both out of your revere and you watch the flash of the phone, the handshake the fan leaves the television star with. It makes you smile, a bit, and gives you a moment to think of something coherent to say to the other woman. And just when she finishes with the woman and you're opening your mouth to say something, Gail Peck smiles almost warmly at you before speaking her own words.

"Finally get tired of looking and decide to actually talk to me?"

The words, you get the feeling, are supposed to be a bit biting, almost a warning shot. But instead of putting you off, it lifts a slight laugh from your lips, your eyebrow quirking in challenge.

"Hey- at least I worked up the courage to come over and do something about it. Didn't see me send over one of my "bodyguards" to talk you up, did ya?"

She blinks at you, her cheeks flushing.

"Yeah- I, uh, told him not to do that."

A beat as you simply smirk at her. She isn't like you thought she'd be, at all. In the best way, you stomach rolls pleasantly.

"What did he say? I mean, I'm already going to kill him tonight. But I feel like when I'm using his ass for target practice, I should know exactly why he has to die."

You shake your head, your hands coming down to rest of the table in front of you.

"Nope. I took an oath years ago. Do no harm. I can't be responsible for the death of another human being."

She quirks her own brow.

"You're a doctor?"

A slight nod. This- this is it, you think.

You jut your hand out as smoothly as you can, hoping to God that your palms aren't reflecting your current nerves and pounding heart.

"Dr. Holly Stewart. Just so you have a name to be put on the face of the person you've been talking about for the last ten minutes."

When she scowls but slides her hand into yours and squeezes anyway, the smile on your face hurts it is so wide.

"Yeah. He's- uh- he's dead. Real dead."

A beat as your hold her hand far longer than you should, trying not to think about its softness.

"But- murder aside, it's nice to meet you, Doctor Holly Stewart. I'm Gail Peck. Not an M.D."

That draws another laugh out of your lips. When you finally break the clasp of your hand on hers, she uses it to pat the stool next to hers. You tuck your head bashfully but move the few feet over to the seat, swallowing against the pounding in your ribs.

"What are you drinking?"

She holds her hand up, gesturing to the bartender who nods, rapidly making her way over to take her order. Tables side service, indeed.

"Oh, uh- you don't have to-"

She places her hand on top of yours where it now rests on the table top.

"It's the least I can do. My asshat friend got you out of line when you were trying to get another. Really- it's- I want to."

You swallow and tell her a Jack and Coke and watch as Gail smiles slightly, echoing the order for herself, with an added "make mine a double" before handing the woman a couple of bills and telling her to keep the change.

It only takes a few moments to get your drinks. And you don't know what it is- maybe that you both feel more comfortable with the social lubrication the alcohol provides, but she's asking a question-

"So, are you a doctor- doctor or what?"

And you're answering and then the conversation is flowing and yeah she's a little jagged around the edges- a little sharp and short but you find yourself leaning into it and giving back as good as you got, matching her wit for wit, smile for smile.

An hour and two more drinks pass when you finally look up and notice how close she's gotten to you throughout the course your conversation, her hand resting comfortably on your knee underneath the table. Your bare knee, the red lace of the dress you had basically been forced to wear at Lisa's insistence because she was "sick of your soft butch thing, already- you have _legs_ , lady" riding up to the middle of your thigh. Where her hand sits. Warming the suddenly raised, goosebumped skin of your knee.

You're quite honestly pretty impressed you're functioning at all given the circumstances but you do and God- it's nice. Because she's breath taking and sexy, yeah, but she's also smart and funny and talented and you forget halfway through the conversation that you watched her on your television every week, that you had ever seen her at all before this goddamn fairytale of an evening. And you've learned quite a bit about her. About the before- before fame in Los Angeles. About life in Toronto- your heart gives a thrill at the ridiculous coincidence- about how she had started at the academy and one day, out of the blue, had been approached by an agent while scouting for a movie location. Who had told her she as one of the most striking women he had ever seen and had she ever acted? Modeled? She'd scoffed at the time, but then- then a fallout with her family and she'd cut and run away for the "Peckspectations" in Toronto. To Los Angeles and Al Lankman who was a little skeezy but also lived up to his promise and booked her a couple of commercials before getting her seen by a couple of the right producers. And then- a lead in a pilot that had gotten picked up and the rest, five years later, was history.

"I never expected… any of this. This life and-," she'd said, "And it's great, really. And I'm thankful. So many people- they work and wish for this their whole lives and never get here. But, uh- it's just really not my scene, I guess? The parties. I mean- I'm all for the alcohol. Just not for the people."

And moments later when the topic gets less serious, as she leans into you and you both giggle at something acerbic she's saying about one of her cast mates, now you can barely stand it. Now that you've realized how close she is and how soft her hands really are and how close you've come to her.

A silence as you take a deep breath and move back a little to give yourself some air, turning toward the table and pulling the drink back to your mouth. This was- amazing. She was amazing. And yeah, you're pretty sure she's been flirting with you all night and yeah she's gorgeous and yeah you really just want to lean in and just fucking kiss her already but you have no idea what she's thinking, no idea what she's feeling. And, you remind yourself, she sort of has an aversion to your home city. So- you need air. And to think, and to-

"Is it yours, then?"

The words jolt you, and you look at her, asking her to repeat the question.

"I said- this wasn't really my scene. So- is it- yours?"

And that draws a laugh out of your lips because God no- and you tell her.

"I'm a bibliophile and a homebody. So, no. My friend Lisa- who I think might have actually left me- bitch- wanted to go out while we were at the conference. I'd normally be at home with Netflix or a book and a glass of wine. I mean- I'm not even dressed the way I normally am, you know? This- is also Lisa's. "

"Oh?"

Gail is asking, a raise to her brow and a smirk on her lips.

"Because, you look- I mean, I'm sure you look good in your pants and your button downs but, uh- this. This is a good look for you, too."

"Yeah?"

Yeah. Definitely flirting. Your heart is trying to rip itself out of your chest you swear to God.

"Yep," she smirks, popping the 'p', "beauty and brains, Stewart. It's a thing people tend to be attracted to."

A smile, a blush of your cheeks.

"Oh really? Know anybody who's into that kinda thing?"

She waits for you to meet her eyes before she speaks the next words, dripping with another meaning altogether.

"I might know somebody."

She's in your space again and you're dizzy.

"So- anyway- seeing as this isn't my scene and it's not quite yours and your friend Bitchtits has left the building, I was wondering if maybe you'd want to get out of here? Maybe- maybe come back to my place? Be the bums and homebodies we really are inside?"

Again with giving yourself credit because you don't pass out right then and there.

A long pause as you try to sort yourself out. She takes your hesitation for an answer.

"I'm sorry- I shouldn't have-. For the record, I really did just want to hang out and maybe watch a movie and maybe talk to you a little bit more because I actually don't hate talking to you and I'm sorry-"

It's the genuine concern on her face, in her words, that makes you shake your head and put your hand on her mouth to bring the words to a stop.

"Yes," you're whispering, trying your best not to stare where your fingers tingle against her lips, "Let me grab my coat and- yeah. Why not? Seeing how you're famous, it'll be pretty easy to i.d. if you end up trying to murder me. It's safe."

She smiles as you shoot of a text to Lisa (with very few actual details) and grab your coat and purse, turning to Gail as she motions toward the bartender and settles her entire tab, tipping the woman nicely with a wink and a subtle slip of her hand. But then that hand is at your elbow, guiding you out of the building with Chris at your heels before sliding into the backseat of a very nice SUV, doing your best to ignore the flashes of various cameras going off as they tried to capture your companion's photo.

The drive is quiet- the expanse of highway giving way to long, winding roads as the vehicle climbed further and further up into the Hollywood Hills. Her body presses into yours, her hand finding its way to your knee once more but now making maddening, slow circles against it.

You meet Chris' eyes in the rearview and try to ignore him as he fixes you with a stare.

You don't blame him for being protective. Gail had told you about the scare a few months before- the stalker who had managed to worm his way through security and knock her out with homemade chloroform before being caught at the gate with her in the trunk. You look over at the woman who is staring determinedly out the window, lost in thought, and shift a little bit closer unconsciously.

When you do arrive, you try to conceal your amazement. It's not a mansion by any means but it is nice and large. Very modern, very white, very clean. Gail opens the door to let you inside and you step into the home and marvel at its simple, sleek design and high vaulted ceilings and open layout and clean, white, furniture while she talks lowly to Chris about the schedule for tomorrow.

Glancing toward the far side of the room, you find yourself drawn over to it. Well, the huge window- floor to ceiling- that is tucked into it, complete with a stunning view of Los Angeles in all its glory. You're still staring when you hear footsteps behind you along with a light chuckle.

"Yeah- the house, again, not quite my style, but this- this view? Totally worth it. And that's saying something because L.A. real estate? Fucking. Ridiculous. You know?"

You nod, still looking out. You try not to be disappointed when you hear her walk away but smile softly at the, "Tequila or red wine?" that she tosses over her shoulder. You don't care and tell her as much, still captured by the view. Yeah- you could… you could maybe get a little used to all of this.

She's gone for a few more minutes and just as you're thinking of going to see if she needs any help, you hear footsteps padding softly back into the living room.

A small sound- like glass against a solid surface and then the sound of the television turning on, the sound of the Roku powering up and, Netflix, you think, coming up on the screen. More shuffling and then- then-

Then her body is behind yours, mere inches away. And you know what she said- you know what you'd been thinking earlier in the club- but this- this stolen moment in the expanse of her home, looking down onto the shining city below- it possessed you and set something within you alight in a way you'd never felt before.

It causes your body to move of its own accord, closing the last few inches and backing into her body, shuddering as her body is finally, wholly flush with yours.

A few long moments as she breathes into your neck and shudders herself. As she brings her hands to your hips and nuzzles her lips into the nape of your neck, into the fine hairs there, pressing a feather light kiss before sliding those warm hands up, up, up, pausing at your rapidly constricting rib cage, waiting for your enthusiastic nod and then- then you're absolutely gasping because she's palming one breast roughly in her hand and threading her hand through your hair with the other and pulling your head to the side, her lips descending on your bared throat and smiling against it as you hiss out your approval, your hips moving further back into her ass with every desperate lick and suck against your pulse point and God help you, she is speaking against your ear, her lips moving up and tongue finding the shell of your ear and tracing it.

"I- I know I know I said with the movie and the wine- and we can. We can. I have everything pulled up on the t.v. and I poured us a couple of very adult glasses of good red wine and we can hang out and just watch whatever- but- Holly. I can't, I mean I can but- I don't want to stop."

Her fingers find a nipple through the lace fabric, the cotton, of your bra and you gasp out at the feel of it. But she's speaking and you want to see her so spin yourself around, determined to be adult and cool headed about this and speak your peace and ask your questions but- holy shit she's looking at you like she wants to devour you and her chest is heaving and holy shit holy shit.

Her lips are being crushed by yours very shortly thereafter, her arms winding themselves around your neck and clutching you to her body. A few stumbled footsteps and then your back is pushed against the glass of the large window. You barely notice, your mind otherwise occupied by her gasping her moans and ever moving tongue that takes its turn slipping into your mouth, and twisting against your own before retreating and doing it all over again. She bites at your lips and removes her hands from your shoulders to push herself slightly back, catching a lip between her teeth as she drifts her eyes over your body. You will yourself to breathe as you begin to ache with want, fingers unconsciously tightening in the fabric of her ow shirt as she begins to skate her hands over your hips and down your thighs before moving up, fingers catching the hem of your dress and slowly inching it up.

You should stop, you think, you should stop all of this and-

But then she's moaning out a needy moan and plundering your mouth with needy wanton kisses and asking a "please, Holly, can I have you?" and you're powerless to resist it, the sound of your hair rustling as you nodded your head enthusiastically, loud in your ears.

Your hands scrabble uselessly against the glass as she presses the heel of her hand into the heat between your thighs before pushing the flimsy, ruined fabric aside, and with one last questing look, pushes her fingers up and into you, gasping into the hollow of your mouth as you do the same. And she feels- God, she feels-

It's all just a pleasurable blur, then. And God- her eyes, the sound of her voice as she pants and husks in your ear just how good you feel, how much she wants you to come- you can barely think above "yes" and just when you think that it's all too much and her words her touch and her thrusts are going to bring you up and crashing over the edge, she stops. She stops and you whimper and try to chase her fingers. You stop complaining when she slips the ruined underwear down your legs. You forget to speak altogether when she drops to her knees, dips her head below the bright red of your skirt, and licks the length of you. When she adds her fingers seconds later, you're fucking lost. Your back is flush against the large window of Gail Peck's flat overlooking the city, your head turned to the side because the sight of her on her knees is _doing things to you_ , and your are eyes wide and your hands buried in her short hair, her tongue and fingers never ceasing their pace.

With her name on your lips and the city blinking back at you, you come, your legs nearly buckling with the intensity of it.

A suggestion is made- something about a bed. When you finally make it to a similarly clean, well designed master suite, your earlier fatigue is forgotten. You know you'll always remember the way she sighed as you shrugged out of your dress, letting it pool around your waist, before making your own way down her body.

Hours later, both on your sides and looking at one another in the afterglow, you're still trying to make sense of it all. Still trying to reckon what all of this means.

But this woman- who you hadn't known for long but also felt like you had maybe for forever- she has surprised you since the first words slipped out of her gorgeous mouth, and these are no different.

"So- Toronto, huh? Flying back the day after next?"

You hum, sliding a hand down a pale arm, a fingers skating down the slope of her stomach into her hip.

"As luck would have it, I have a couple of weeks off and I was thinking that maybe- it was time I re-evaluated its merits."

A soft sort of wondering sound.

"Yeah?"

Gail smiles. You die, a little.

"Yeah. Plus- I met somebody recently. Hot, smart- I mean, she's totally a nerd but- like, in this sexy librarian sort of way. And in case you didn't figure it out yet that's kind of my thing."

You laugh. Honest to God, deep laugh. And sigh after. And die a little again inside, maybe.

You move a hand up to her face, cup her cheek.

"Well- maybe I can arrange a tour? If you're not too busy with this hot librarian lady."

"Deal."

You kiss her softly, sweetly. Almost like you're afraid she isn't real. When she breaks the kiss, she's smiling.

"But that's next week. What about tomorrow? You ready for your fancy presentation. Hope I didn't distract you while you should have been studying up."

You shake your head, paying more attention to where your index finger is absently tracing at her full bottom lip and muttering a distracted, "no, all good".

"Good. Wouldn't want your fellow nerds to suffer solely for my pleasure."

"Good to note. You're a true philanthropist, Gail. Really."

That draws a laugh out of her. A few moments of companionable, soft silence. And then-

"So- this conference? Is this something that I can, like sneak into? So I can see you in all your sciencey glory?"

You wrench her face to hers, kissing her with steady, heavy pressure. God, this woman-

"Maybe," you're speaking against her lips, "maybe- if you're really nice to speaker, something can be arranged."

The ragged "deal" is lost to the softness of her tongue and the wrapping of her legs around your own.

* * *

A week later, when Sunday morning rolls around and you're sitting at your kitchen table with a cup of coffee and thoughts of the slumbering woman in your bed with movie star good looks, you hear the knock of the door. You r brow furrowed, you walk toward the door and look in the peephole. When Rachel, your other best friend's face greets you, you open the door.

"Rach- is everything okay? It's early-"

She breezes right by you before stopping in front of your coffee table, spinning and throwing a colorful looking magazine on the table.

"Holly Stewart," she's tutting, trying, you think, to hide the smile on her face, "you got some 'splaining to do."

A nervous flick of your eyes toward your bedroom door as you think you hear the rustle of the bedsheets.

"You want to tell me why you're on the front page of a gossip rag apparently canoodling with t.v.'s highest paid actress?"

A nervous lick of your lips. A groan as you hear the beginnings of your phone beginning to ring and beep with notifications and texts.

"Oh, shit."

You weren't supposed to be there, in the club. And now you might be a little reluctantly famous but with another glace at the stairs that led to your bedroom and thoughts of the woman who you're kissing- first in a small café she'd taken you to celebrate your successful presentation and then again at the airport before your departure home- in the glossy pages of Rachel's magazine- sated and exhausted and bare- in your bed, you can't help but be thankful for all of the things that have led you to this point- and for all of the things that you know are going to come after.

You roll your eyes and push Rachel out of the apartment and promise to call her. You turn your phone off, turn your thoughts once more to Gail Peck, not M.D.

You're excited, for the first time in a long time, at all of the possibilities.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2! Enjoy and please let me know what you think.

Sorry for mistakes.

* * *

You're nervous. Like- really fucking nervous and you pull at your collar, the button down suddenly restricting and hot against your skin.

You let your eyes wander out to the passing landscape- somewhat familiar now- as the SUV makes its way off the highway, turning right and then climbing up into the hills toward your girlfriend's house.

The sound of the word- even in your head- lifts your lips and helps a little to calm your nerves. Tonight, after nearly six months of back and forth dating- trips to and then weekends spent barely leaving Gail's house in L.A., meeting her at the airport and doing nearly the same in Toronto- tonight, you were going to officially attend an awards show by her side as her significant other. A big one that was televised and being covered before and after and dresses and outfits judged and gossiped about for weeks and- and-

You pull at your collar again and swallow, cracking the window so you can feel some of the cool evening air on your flushing face.

It wasn't that you weren't excited and, more than that, proud to go with her and show everyone who cared to see that you were with her and that she was yours and you were hers, but all of it- it was a bit disorienting and the prospect of all of those eyes watching-

The thoughts are interrupted by a small jolt when the SUV comes to a stop, finally in front of the familiar house. More time must have passed than you were aware of because here you were and Chris is opening the door and smiling at you and doing his best not to let his eyes linger on you as you step out on shaky legs and make your way to the front door and ready or not, here it goes.

Chris opens the door for you but stays outside, his hands at his sides as he gestures with his head for you to go ahead in.

"Tell her we should go in 20. Traffic's always a nightmare for the Emmy's. So- no funny business. I mean it."

A light blush on your cheeks, you nod, slapping him lightly on the arm for good measure as you pass. As the door swings closed, you hear a light "don't say I didn't warn you, Stewart" and your brow furrows with the words and their ambiguity.

It only takes a moment- a couple of footsteps into the large living room toward the couch where you sit, and a quick glance toward the window and your favorite view (possibly anywhere, ever)- before you understand Chris' words in the best and biggest way.

A soft utterance of your name, a clack of heels against the dark bamboo floors. You turn, a smile on your face, your heart picking up at the mere thought that she is close to you and then- you see her. And holy shit. This is it, you were wrong. This, you now know- this is your favorite view of anywhere, fucking ever- Gail Peck standing in her own living room in a long black strapless dress with a slit high on her left thigh, only a simple set of diamond studs sparkling in her ears and black pumps adorning her feet and accentuating every single toned muscle in that milky, exposed leg.

Your mind goes absolutely blank. Your mouth goes dry. You make a sound but it's not really a word as much as a strangled choke and your heart gives an extra pump at the smile it draws from her lips. She ducks her head and a light blush colors her cheeks and Jesus Christ are you glad that you are sitting because you're sure that you wouldn't be able stay up on your feet at the look of it, the look of her standing tall and gorgeous and fucking flawless in front of you.

You watch as she almost drifts over to you, your eyes now on her liquid hips, the way that they move and expose the delicious skin of her thigh with every step toward your nearly hyperventilating form.

And then she's stopping in front of you, only inches away, looming over you and smiling so softly and bringing her hands to your own which are clinging and clenching on the couch cushions before moving them so that they sit on the very hips you had just been admiring. Your eyes drift up and over the flat of her stomach, the supple curve of her breasts underneath the fabric, and the slight cleavage that spills out- tastefully, you note- over the sweetheart of the neckline before flicking to her pale collarbone, and dark red, painted mouth. Finally, her eyes- smoky and dark and so, so blue and boring into you.

The fabric feels good against your hands- velvet, you note- and you can't help yourself as you smile and begin to drift your hands, now more steady and curious, down the swell of her ass, the curve of her legs. A gasp as one hand finds the high slit of the dress and then bare flesh, fingers scraping and scraping until you're rewarded with a hiss, her hips canting forward.

"Holly."

She gasping, her body shuffling closer until she's almost straddling your thighs, her hands trying to tangle themselves in your hair. Your hand- the one that isn't glued to her ass and helping the rhythm of her hips- moves ever further up, fingers now tracing the seam of what you can only imagine are lacy, black underwear.

"Holly, as much as I'd- Jesus- like to continue this- we- we have to-"

And Chris' words are flashing in your head and your watch is telling you that your twenty minutes are nearly gone but goddammit you're on fire and she is so stunning and lovely that you can't help it, nuzzling your cheeks into her clenching abdomen and muttering-

"You looking so fucking good, honey- God, I want you-"and taking in her fluttering lashes and further shuffling hips and stuttered gasp-

A loud cough interrupts your embrace, her body stiffening and moving back and turning toward the sound, sour expression fixed firmly on her face as she takes Chris is who sheepishly tries to look away from her piercing gaze. He shakes his head and turns to go out the door, throwing a "limo's here, ladies- get it together!" and you try to will the images of a writhing, screaming Gail out of your head even as she turns back around to look at you with a somewhat sheepish smile, hands coming out to smooth her dress before reaching out toward you, not moving until you take a breath and clasp those hands with yours, letting her pull you up.

A stuttered breath from her lips as she takes you in when you're standing just in front of her, bright red, full bottom lip trapped between white teeth.

"God- Hol, I didn't see- you look-"

She swallows and you draw closer to her, hands once more settling on those downright sinful hips.

"You remember what I said when we met? About you and your button-downs not looking as good as the dress you had on?"

"Mmmm," you smile in memory, drawing closer until your lips are a hairsbreadth from hers, hot breath distracting her with every exhale. She brings her arms to drape across your neck, settling on the wool of your suit jacket.

"God- I was so wrong. This- you should definitely wear a suit more often. Like, all of the time."

And then she's kissing you and moaning into it and wrapping her tongue around your own and just taking you in and setting you on fire for long moments and you want to touch her, everywhere, but you have somewhere to be so you settle with cupping her cheeks and letting your fingers splay across where you feel her jaw moving with every sweep of her tongue.

Her hands come out to skate over your shoulders, gripping onto the collar of your shirt before finding their way to the skinny black tie cinched at your neck and draping down across your chest. You allow one more pull of her hands, one more slip slide of her tongue against your own, before you're pulling away from her with every ounce of willpower you've ever possessed.

She groans and starts to chase your lips when a honk sounds just outside the house.

She sighs and smooths the lapels of your suit jacket with slow and steady fingers. You sigh and come up to fix a slight smudge on her bottom lip. Good lipstick, you think, wiping it away with a smile.

When you finally make your way outside to the waiting stretch, you ignore Chris' annoyed gaze, choosing instead to focus on the tangle of your fingers with hers as she leads you into the plush backseat of the vehicle.

The ride is mostly uneventful, her hand never leaving yours, mostly because Chris is sat opposite the two of you, going over the protocol for the event. He is worried about safety, keeping the both of you safe, anyhow, but all you can think of is what is to come as far as festivities that evening, your heart fluttering a little at the thought.

Like she can sense it, Gail's hand is suddenly clasped in yours, her fingers lacing with your own and her thumb stroking the back of your thumb in a placating motion.

"Is this- too much, Holly? Because- you can just forget about this whole thing- turn around and drop you off and let you veg back at the house and you can watch me make an ass of myself at home-"

You pull her face toward yours and capture her lips with yours, connecting one, two, three, times, sighing as you bring your unattended hand to cup her face before breaking the kiss and tipping your forehead against hers.

"No. I want to be with you tonight. I want to watch everyone- when they see you. I think it's sort of- nice- that everyone in the world will know that you belong to me tonight."

The words spill out and they're far more possessive sounding than you meant them to so you go to correct your mistake but it doesn't matter and words are superfluous because she's kissing you again. She's kissing you again and it's hard and a little desperate and you slip your tongue into her mouth and start to run your hand along the curve of her spine and God in your panic you had forgotten about the thrumming of desire deep in your belly, the wanting-

A loud cough.

Chris.

Fuck.

You break away, your cheeks flaming as his presence comes crashing full into you, his embarrassed gaze refusing to meet yours as you mutter a soft apology at the way you had allowed all of it to consume you.

Gail merely smirks, pulling out a compact and checking her lipstick once more, running a soft finger down the outside line and correcting what little damage you had done with your own searching lips and tongue. You look away, gulping. You really didn't need to be thinking about her lips right now. Or her fingers.

Chris, once he can look your way once more without blushing, finishes his 'risk assessment' that leave Gail rolling her eyes but nodding along with it.

And then she's turning to you, smile high and eyes open.

"So- you're sure- this isn't, too much? Because I can tell Al to shove it-"

Her manager may have mentioned that bringing you- who had become sort of a reluctant star in your own right due to the ever invasive practice of stalking social media that you had never needed to be private before- to an event for the first time would be good for publicity and at first she had blanched at the suggestion, calling you in a bit of a stir- angry at the idea of using you at all for the furthering of her career.

Because beside the initial times you had been caught that first time in L.A. by the paparazzi, kissing, you had both decided to sort of play the whole thing low key and out of the public eye.

That first visit Gail had had with you in Toronto, she'd (a little bashfully which had just made you swoon a little) told you that she had never really been one for P.D.A. at all, that she had just sort of gotten caught up in you and forgotten to be guarded. So, you'd decided, together, to try to minimize it, to downplay the relationship.

And, it had worked. You were happy. Really, ridiculously happy.

To the point where the only mildly upsetting thing about the relationship was the time difference, the distance. The fact that Gail already had sort of a wacky schedule was hard enough but then, when you added the fact that L.A. seemed like it existed on the other side of the world with the added time, it made it all ridiculous.

Every other weekend, it seemed, she was either flying in or you were flying out, or you were scheduling late night Skype sessions or, or, or. And it was fucking exhilarating and wonderful but also awful because you just wanted to exist with her, with this incredible, beautiful woman without the barrier of a time zone to keep her from touching you and kissing you and sleeping beside you every night.

You gulp as you begin to see traffic. You shake your head, turn to her and smile as convincingly as you can.

"Gail- yes. I'm ready. Let's go."

She smiles at you, kisses you lightly. The car stops. Chris gives you a final look.

And then, the door opens. And the crowd roars.

* * *

It was- a lot.

A lot a lot.

But she stands by your side on the red carpet and puts her hand in yours and introduces you to people you had only before seen on television or a movie screen and there are photographers who are shouting at her, yeah, but also at you and she's smiling and kissing your inflamed cheek as the light bulbs flash. It gets easier as time goes by- nearly an hour spent walking less than 100 meters but whatever, it was a thing- and when you're almost all posed out and she's whispering in your ear how much she just wants to fucking sit already and you're tempted to just pick her up and carry her into the theatre- there's a moment when she turns to you, her arms draped around your middle, a soft smile on her face.

She reaches out to fix your tie where it has gone a little crooked, to straighten to pocket square over your left breast and lingering. And it's then that you forget where you are or anything else other than her and how you want her, now, and you're lost in the warmth of her smile and you tip her chin up with your forefinger and before you even think about it, you kiss her- soft and slow and sweet and sigh as you feel her do the same.

And the cameras capture every single fucking second of it and the roar of the crowd grows but it doesn't matter because all that really matters is this and you and her. You break the embrace, smile, and take her hand.

In the midst of it all, your nerves are completely forgotten.

* * *

The show is pretty uneventful and Gail doesn't win (again) so you pretty much spend all night giggling along with her and her co-stars that you had previously met and drinking champagne until you're pleasantly buzzed.

About an hour in, just after she had placed her hand on your thigh and pressed her lips to your cheek, your favorite of her actor friends, Traci, had looked at you both and asked you which after party you were attending.

Your brow had furrowed and you'd looked to Gail for some sort of answer. You weren't told about a party.

Gail's cheeks are a little pink.

"We- I wasn't planning on one. I got invited to Vanity and I think Mike said something about-"

"About his place, yeah. Woah, Gail. Skipping out on the big parties? Thought you told me that this was the only bearable time of year because of all the free top shelf liquor."

She shakes her head, mumbling something in her drink.

Traci turns to you with a knowing grin and winks slowly.

After the final award is given and everyone is milling about and saying their final goodbyes, Gail grabs your hand and sinks herself into your side. You walk like that- stopping only so you could put your arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer- all the way out to the red carpet, toward the edge of the street.

When you pause, she speaks.

"So, you survived your first red carpet. You're not gonna run for the hills now that you've seen all of this up close and personal, are ya?"

You chuckle, kiss the top of her head.

"Let's go home. I'll show you what I think about seeing all of- this-"

You let your eyes drift deliberately down her body and fight the urge to smirk when you see her shudder a little.

"-up close and personal, yeah?"

The limousine pulls up a minute later and you wave the drive off when he tries to open the door, doing it yourself and allowing her to crawl in first. You follow after, let the door close, and barely get settled before you feel her gaze settled on you and you turn, looking over to where she's basically draped herself over the opposite bench, reaching for the open bottle of champagne resting on ice in the cove of the minibar and two glasses, pouring them slowly and sparing them only a slight flick of her eyes as they fill.

Then she's passing one of the glasses over to you with a smirk and you're taking it with a raised eyebrow, curious to her intentions because she's wanting to drink when she's looking at you that way and looking that way in that dress?

But you follow through with her game and meet her in the middle, allow the glasses to clink, and the sound of her soft words flood your ears.

"To surviving your first red carpet event and not running away."

You laugh lightly, "here hereing" and drawing the glass to your lips and downing the liquid in one quick gulp, smirking as you watch her watch you, and as she does the same.

She looks at you and licks her lips, reaching for your empty glass.

"Do you want some more?"

You're shaking your head and reaching for her in the same motion and swallowing the "oh thank God" that leaves her lips and pulling her toward you, hesitating only to let her set the glasses down on the bar so they don't fall. And then-

Then she's shuffling forward and you're wrenching up the heavy fabric of that gorgeous fucking dress so she can part her thighs and settle over your lap, immediately and grinding down into your wool clad center when she sifts her fingers through your hair and bites at your lip and twists her tongue into your mouth.

And it's so hot and frantic and your fingers are scraping against the silky flesh of her thighs before moving up and over velvet to grasp at her ass, aiding in the movement of her hips, the slow and steady grind she's working started against you.

You want so badly to just fucking take her- the sounds she's making, hot and hoarse and desperate- not helping with that impulse and you break your lips away with a groan when she scrapes her nails down your neck, drifting down to tug at your tie and wrench your head lightly to the side, mouth descending onto the sensitive skin of your neck. You nearly keen, your hips arching up and off the leather seat, when her teeth find your pulse point and bite, humming into the indented fabric.

Long, stolen moments pass as the car moves through the throng of traffic, the twisting hills.

You're panting and so hot and turned on you can barely think and all you want is to press her down against the cushions and flip her dress up and bury your head between your legs and you're this close to telling her so, mouth somehow once more fused and open and moving against hers, when there's a knock on the door.

It's only then you notice that the car has stopped. The scenery has changed.

The house is both a welcome and horrifying sight.

You both fumble slightly and you fight the urge to groan as she slides off of your lap and adjusts her dress and wipes at her lips that have finally started to show some wear after the whole evening. The door opens and she slips a pleasant smile onto her face and thanks the driver for his services and you smile weakly at him as you pass by as well and follow her toward the front door, watching as she opens it and disappears inside, leaving the door ajar.

A moment as you pause and inhale sharply through your nose, trying very very hard to quell the raging fire between your legs.

The moment you step foot past the entry way, hands grab at your shoulders and pin you against the door, shutting with the weight that is pushed against it.

And she's gasping again and looking at you with heavy and dark and lust soaked eyes and telling you that she wants you, that she's wanted you all night and Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ-

She's kissing you and trying to pop the button of your slacks and groaning when she finally does, touching you over the light lace of your underwear and feeling how wet and wanting you are.

But all you want- all you want, you think through the fog of desire- all you've wanted to do since you came here hours ago and saw her in that dress- is to touch her and taste and make her come undone so you're shaking your head and grasping at her wrists and kissing her through her crinkled brow and questioning words and instead reversing your positions and pinning her against the wood of the door, wrists up and scrabbling at the frame where you've ordered them to stay and- you just look at her.

Take in her flushed cheeks and panting lips and glazed eyes and her nodding head and yes- this is what you needed.

"The way you look tonight- Jesus, Gail-"

You skim the palms of your hands down her sides, lean forward to breathe heavily in her ear, take the lobe of it in between your teeth.

"-this is all I've been able to think about tonight. Getting on my knees, moving that slit in your dress to the side and just- making you come with my tongue."

A guttural, strangled moan. Her hips jolt and you smile even as you bite lightly against the flesh there once more.

"Is that gonna be okay with you?"

You don't wait for any sort of confirmation- the shifting of her hips and the heaving of her chest answer enough, you think- before you're reaching up and drawing flimsy, lacy, and ruined fabric down her long legs and throwing them carelessly over your shoulder before doing as you'd told her moments before- moving the fabric of that dress aside and finding where she is warm and wet and absolutely wanting and burying your tongue and letting her move her hips against your face and clench her petulant fingers in your hair so hard it almost hurts before making her come with a curse and your name on your lips.

Her hands soothe at your hair when you smile up at her, the velvet soft against your sore and smiling cheeks.

It's all sort of liquid and languid and dream like after.

From what you can you recall, there was a quick fumble to the bedroom, her hands pushing at your clothes and muttering a hoarse "leave it on" about your tie that, if possible, makes you ache even more than you were before and she sheds her dress and moves over you and in and you and she takes and takes and takes from you until you can barely keep your eyes open- naked and sweaty and sated in the cool, crisp sheets of her bed.

You find yourself facing her in the same manner that you had been the first night after- the night that Gail had proven that she wanted more than a one night stand and made you laugh and made you think that maybe there could be a future there.

But tonight- there's something different in the air. Something different in her gaze that keeps your heavy lids from closing all the way.

"Hey," she whispering, fingers moving a loose hair away from your face, "Holly, can I tell you something?"

"Mmmmm?"

A silence. It's heavy and hesitant.

"I- Chris pulled me aside before we got into the lobby at the theatre. He said- uh- well, he said-"

Your ears perk up.

"What, babe?"

"Chris- he pulled me aside after we walked the carpet and he told me- that it looked good me."

You're confused.

"What? That I look good on you? Yeah I do."

The words are barely out of your mouth before she's blurting a-

"Love. Being in love. Is what looks good on me."

Oh.

Oh shit.

Another silence.

"Do- you think he's right, Gail? Are you- in love? With me?"

Her eyes are as wide and open and vulnerable as you've ever seen them. You think your heart actually stop when, after a slight hesitation, she nods and stutters a soft "yes".

Warm hands envelop that amazing face.

"Yeah?"

She kisses you, softly.

"Yeah. Of course I love you, Holly."

You shudder out a breath.

"God, I love you, too."

You kiss her until she's breathless. You kiss her until she believes the words to be true.

It isn't until the next morning- with the t.v. muted with the awards coverage playing in the background and a cup of coffee in your hand- that she brings up the news.

"So," she says through a bagel, "My contract is up next season."

"Mmmm," you mutter, distracted as you catching a glimpse of yourself on E!, and shaking your head at the utter absurdity of your life.

"And my agent was shopping around a little bit because I don't want to be on a procedural forever and he came across this great pilot for, uh, a sci fi show? High concept but totally critical acclaim worthy and all and he put in a call and I'm going to go read for it and-"

You furrow your brow as the coverage morphs into a commercial for Gail's show. Seriously. Your life.

"-Holly? Are you- did you hear what I said?"

You turn an apologetic smile her way. She smile lightly.

"You get used to seeing yourself on t.v., eventually."

You shake your head. Probably not for you, but whatever. The girl in front of you? Worth it.

"I was saying- I've got an audition. For a pilot that I think I would be really good for. And it- it films in Toronto."

Your eyes are wide. Your mouth is dry. Because she can't be telling you everything you want to hear.

"And I was thinking that after last night and what we said that I'd like to- if you'd have me- I'd like to maybe be with you, full time. If anything, just to see if being around you all the time sucks as little as being with you only the some of the time. You know. For science."

This. Woman.

You're nodding and she's smiling and you're putting the coffee down and grabbing at her shirt- which is also your shirt- and bunching it up until she's clambering up and over your hips where you sit in her kitchen chair and moving against you and asking if that's a good with you -

And this- it's all a fucking dream, you're sure of it because how could it not be but just in case it isn't, you sink your fingers in her hair and sigh into her mouth and grab at her bare thighs to bring her closer to you.

And look forward to this new and exciting and ridiculous future.

With Gail fucking Peck, not an M.D.

You're really, really okay with it.

* * *

Drop me a line. Thank you!


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